Prologue
The metallic clink of chains was the only sound breaking the silence.
A damp cell with no windows, its walls so cold they could slice skin. There, seated on the stone floor, a young woman with silver-gray hair toyed with the shackles on her wrists as if they were new bracelets to show off at a tavern.
"Tick, tock, tick, tock…" she whispered with a crooked smile, swaying the chains to the rhythm of an imaginary clock.
Her visible eye, a pale blue, gleamed with mischief in the gloom. The other remained hidden beneath a black eyepatch, as though concealing a secret no one had the right to know.
The screech of rusted hinges announced the arrival of heavy footsteps.
"You again," Lyria muttered, not bothering to rise. "Here to bring me dinner, or just drool while staring?"
The guard grunted, holding up a luminite lantern that barely lit the cell.
"What a foul woman. Do you know how many people out there want your head? Criminals like you deserve to rot in here."
Lyria arched a brow, leaning her back against the wall.
"Criminal, me?" She let out a short laugh. "Says the pig who reeks of fear from all the way over here. Tell me—have you bathed this month?"
The man slammed his sword against the bars, but she didn't flinch. On the contrary, she tilted her head with brazen amusement.
"Damn half-breed…" the guard spat.
"Why look at me like that? Afraid I'll escape?" she asked, leaning forward.
The air turned colder in an instant. A mist of frost crept along the floor as if answering her words.
The guard instinctively stepped back.
"Your powers are sealed! Don't try anything!"
Lyria burst into laughter, the sound echoing across the cell.
"Sealed, you say? Maybe…" Her finger traced the chain, frost crackling across the metal. "…or maybe I just enjoy watching you piss yourself."
The guard swallowed hard, sweat dripping cold despite the chill.
"I'll warn you, wolf. Keep that attitude, and your punishment will be severe…"
Calmly, Lyria adjusted her eyepatch and winked.
"Words, words…"
She stretched out as if lounging on a sofa, not in a dank prison cell.
"They said that last time. And the time before that. And the one before that."
The guard scowled. She only yawned, openly bored.
"You don't excite me. You bore me. Leave the food and get lost before I change my mind."
Grinding his teeth, the man stormed out, slamming the door so hard it rang through the corridor.
Silence returned.
The young woman leaned back against the wall, crossing her legs with the same carelessness as someone killing time at a bar. Her fingers drummed against the floor, playing an invisible melody.
"Idiots…" she muttered. "They think that because I'm caged, I'm defeated."
A wisp of vapor escaped her lips as she sighed, cold as winter itself.
"I'm not locked up… I'm just resting. Though honestly, these walls are starting to bore me."
Her eyes glimmered with a wild spark.
"I need something exciting. Something worth my while."
And then, Lyria smiled. That dangerous smile—the kind worn by someone who never accepted the world's rules and lived only to dance on the line between danger and glory.
Because sooner or later, her story would cross paths with freedom again.
And when that day came… more than a few would regret ever calling her a criminal.